


The Ice Man and The Virgin

by Pretzal



Category: Frozen (2013), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Frozen AU, M/M, Mycroft is the Ice Man, Sherlock is the Virgin, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pretzal/pseuds/Pretzal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock: Frozen AU</p><p>  <em>“Mycroft! Mycroft, wake up!” Sherlock shouted, rolling himself onto his brother.</em><br/> <br/><em>“Go back to sleep, Sherlock,” Mycroft mumbled, snuggling back into his pillow. </em></p><p>  <em>“I can't go back to sleep Mycroft! Sleep is so boring! I need to do something interesting. Let's do an experiment. Or we can play pirate. Anything, but more of this boring sleeping!” Sherlock rolled back and forth on the bed until Mycroft had no choice but to yank the blanket, causing his little brother to fall off the bed with an “oomph!”.</em><br/> <br/><em>“Mycroft!” Sherlock whined, as he scrambled back onto the bed,“I'm bored!”</em></p><p>  <em>“Yes, and I'm sleeping. Perhaps you should follow my example,” Mycroft said, burying his head under his blankets. There was blessed silence for a few moments, before the blankets were pulled back.</em><br/> <br/><em>“Sher-”</em></p><p>  <em>“Do you wanna build a snowman?”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do You Wanna Build A Snowman?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks so much for reading this! It's my first story for AO3. I don't know if this is just my obsession with the Holmes brothers coming through, but after I watched Frozen, the only thing I could think was that someone needed to write a Sherlock/Frozen AU. The next thing I knew I was writing this when I really should be doing all the homework that I've been avoiding.  
> I hope you like it! Please let me know if you spot any mistakes! I welcome all feedback! Thanks again for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Do You Wanna Build A Snowman?

“Mycroft! Mycroft, wake up!” Sherlock shouted, rolling himself onto his brother.

“Go back to sleep, Sherlock,” Mycroft mumbled, snuggling back into his pillow. 

“I can't go back to sleep Mycroft! Sleep is so boring! I need to do something interesting. Let's do an experiment. Or we can play pirate. Anything, but more of this boring sleeping!” Sherlock rolled back and forth on the bed until Mycroft had no choice but to yank the blanket, causing his little brother to fall off the bed with an “oomph!”.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock whined, as he scrambled back onto the bed,“I'm bored!”

“Yes, and I'm sleeping. Perhaps you should follow my example,” Mycroft said, burying his head under his blankets. There was blessed silence for a few moments, before the blankets were pulled back.

“Sher-”

“Do you wanna build a snowman?”

Mycroft sighed, but he felt a small smile creeping its way to his face. Sherlock smiled smugly at him, his little arms crossed over his chest.

“Come on! Come on! Hurry up!” Sherlock pulled Mycroft down the stairs, almost tripping over his feet.

“Slow down, Sherlock, the Great Hall isn't going anywhere,” Mycroft said, walking agonizingly slowly.

“Can't you go any faster?” Sherlock complained, tugging his brother's hand harder.

“I am merely helping you practice your patience,” Mycroft said, walking with all the grace and elegance of a king.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, before letting go of his brother to run down the stairs, bouncing on his heels. After waiting a full thirty seconds, Sherlock huffed angrily and collapsed on the floor, sulking loudly. A special trait only Sherlock seemed to have.

By the time Mycroft had reached the last step, Sherlock had lost interest in the Great Hall and instead chose to glare angrily at his brother. He pouted his lips and rolled onto his back so he could radiate his full displeasure at his lazy older sibling.

“Come now, Sherlock, is that really any way for a prince to act?” Mycroft sighed.

“It's probably all those pieces of cake you ate after dinner slowing you down,” Sherlock said, “even though Mother told you that you were only allowed to eat one.”

“You know,” Mycroft said, with all the pompous force a fourteen year old could manage, “I am tired, and I have a long day ahead of me. I may just go back upstairs and sleep.”

Sherlock let out another groan, before rolling over and standing back up. “Please, then you would have to climb all those stairs again. We both know that that's too much effort for you to manage.”

 _Apology accepted_ , Mycroft thought in his head as he said, “Well, I've already walked down here. I might as well do something productive.” But he did walk slightly faster toward the Great Hall.

“Shut the door! Shut it!” Sherlock shouted, his excitement quickly returned, “Do the magic! Hurry up!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, and summoned the cold into his hands. Sherlock's eyes were locked on the small glowing blue orb that he held in his hands, “Ready?”

“Yes, yes, hurry up. You're _so_ slow, Mycroft,” Sherlock complained. The ball soared toward the ceiling and exploded in a flurry of snow. Sherlock was completely entranced, his eyes wide with interest, his mouth was slightly open and one hand was stretched out toward the ceiling, as if he could capture the magic that had caused the small snow storm in the castle.

“Sherlock, come look. I've something to show you.” Sherlock spent another moment staring, before running toward Mycroft. “Ready?” He asked.

It said a lot about Sherlock's current level of awe that he didn't complain or scoff at the idea that he wasn't ready to see more of Mycroft's magic. Mycroft picked one foot off the floor and stamped it down, ice spread quickly and covered the entire floor of the Hall.

“That's amazing!” Sherlock said, twisting to see the entire room. He slipped and fell into a pile of soft snow.

“Be careful, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, smiling as his little brother paid him absolutely no mind and went running toward the wall.

“The wall is ice too! Have you spread ice all over the room?” Sherlock asked, “Nevermind, I can see clearly that it only spreads to the top of the wall, you haven't covered the ceiling. You did that on purpose, too much of a hassle to clean up. Also, too much effort for icing something that won't be of any use.”

“Good,” Mycroft said, “but you've missed something.”

“No, I haven't,” Sherlock said, twirling around quickly, “What?”

“Come on, Sherlock. Think.” 

Sherlock looked around the room, cataloging the frozen floor and walls, the high ceiling, the snowflakes that were falling from the sky, the soft light of sunrise streaming from the windows, the sounds of dangling glass, the crickets outside, “What am I missing?”

“Look around, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, his stupid smug smile plastered on his fat face.

Sherlock looked around again, there wasn't any-Oh!

“Obvious,” Sherlock said, “the chandelier. If you iced the ceiling, then the chandelier would shatter.”

“Very good,” Mycroft said, “now, I think you mentioned something about a snowman.”

The two of them spent the rest of the early morning in the snow. They rolled large snowballs, and made a snowman (“Snowwoman! Snowmen are so boring, everyone makes them.”) Sherlock even collected a carrot for her nose and a small butter knife, which was frozen to her hand (“Well, she can't just be a snowwoman, she needs a career. A surgeon will do, of course. She'll do autopsies. Let's make a snowman for her to dissect. Hurry up, Mycroft!”) Mycroft made a sled out of ice and made hills of snow for the two of them to slide down. Sherlock liked to jump off in mid-air, and Mycroft quickly summoned a large snow pile for his thrill seeking little brother to fall into. Sherlock was smiling and laughing, jumping from snow pile to snow pile, as quickly as Mycroft could summon them. Mycroft simply sat back and enjoyed his little brother's happy squeals as snow magically appeared under his feet.

“Sherlock, slow down,” Mycroft said, as he noticed his snow piles had increasingly gotten taller and taller. Sherlock paid him no mind, and continued to jump about. Mycroft realized that he would have to begin making the snow piles smaller until Sherlock could simply hop from one to the floor safely, when he took a step back and slipped. Sherlock hopped off his pile of snow and Mycroft quickly tried to make the snow catch him, but instead the blast grazed Sherlock's head and he tumbled toward the floor, unconscious.

“Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, scrambling up and running to his brother, “Sherlock, answer me! Are you ok? Sherlock? Mother! Father!” He grabbed his brother, cradling his head in his arms. One of Sherlock's dark locks faded into ice-white. “I've got you,” Mycroft said, hugging Sherlock tighter.

The doors of the Great Hall opened and the King and Queen rushed in.

“He's ice cold!” His mother shouted, pulling Sherlock into her arms.

“It was an accident!” Mycroft said, Sherlock was jumping on the snow piles and I didn't notice that they were becoming higher and higher. When I tried to make them smaller, I fell and I accidentally hit Sherlock with the ice. We need to get him warm. Father, there must be people that can be consulted. You have maps and books about those creatures that know about the magical arts in your study.

That's what Mycroft wanted to say, but all that actually came out of his mouth was, “Is he going to be ok? Father, he's going to be ok, right?” He hated himself for his uselessness. Hated himself for his inability to simply fix the problem. Instead, he was panicking. He couldn't stop imagining little graves and little tombstones and little coffins for little six year old boys who died because their older brothers were too stupid to protect them.

The next thing Mycroft knew, they were in the woods, exactly where the maps that he had memorized had said the magical beings resided.

“Please, we need help,” Father said. Mycroft wrinkled his nose at the idea that _they_ needed help. That _they_ had been reduced to begging some mysterious force that apparently lived in a valley covered in ugly rocks. But then he remembered why they were even here and had to ignore the tightness of his chest. No, he was the crown prince. Crown princes didn't feel a painful tightness in their chests that made them want to sob like babies. Suddenly, the rocks began to move, and Mycroft was so shocked that he actually lost his train of thought.

They rocks transformed into short stone creatures, that were covered in moss and necklaces that were made of jars and light.

“It's the King!” They said. Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the statement.

“Please, it's my son,” Father said. An old stone creature, troll, Mycroft amended, walked forward and placed a hand on Sherlock's head.

“Born or cursed,” he asked, inclining his head toward Mycroft.

“Born, and getting stronger,” his Father said.

“You were lucky it wasn't his heart. The heart is not so easily changed. But the head could be persuaded.” The troll said.

“Do what you must,” Father said.

“I recommend you remove all magic, even memories of the magic, to be safe,” as he said this, the troll pulled the memories of the two brothers playing in the snow and quickly changed them, ridding them of Mycroft's magic, “but don't worry. I'll leave the fun.” He placed his hand on Sherlock's forehead and Sherlock breathed and Mycroft knew that his little brother would be ok.

“Listen to me, Mycroft, your powers will only grow,” the troll told him, something Mycroft had already suspected, “There is beauty in it, but also great danger. You must learn to control it. Fear will be your enemy.”

“He can learn to control his powers,” his Father said, strong and sure.

“Until then,” his Mother said, “We'll lock the gates. Reduce the staff. Limit his contact with people. Keep his powers hidden from everyone, including Sherlock.” His Mother looked at him, and he stood tall and nodded. He could control his powers, he just had to conceal them.


	2. Go Away Sherlock!

It was snowing.

Sherlock hated when it snowed. People would get distracted and get stupider. Which was surprising, because he didn’t think that was possible.

It was too cold. It was wet. Water was being tracked inside and it made the floor dirty. People could slip. They could slip while holding twelve test tubes and a cage containing a very rare White Hunting Mouse that could only be found when it snowed and was almost impossible to see, let alone catch. And the cage could go flying and break open and the mouse could go skittering across the floor. 

“Must you mope like this, Sherlock? Honestly,” Mycroft said, an unmistakable sigh in his voice, “You are in the way of the servants, and you’re filthy.”

“I’m not in the way. In fact, I’m helping since it seems that none of these idiots are at all capable of wiping the floors when they’re wet. Or, since they persist in simply not doing their jobs, putting up a sign of some sort, I will be a warning to those that take the perilous journey across this floor that it is indeed wet and slippery.” Sherlock ended his tirade with a huff, and crossed his arms.

“Please do not give the servants reason to hate you more than they currently do,” Mycroft said, his heels squelching on the floor.

“And what a pity that would be!” Sherlock shouted. He lay pouting on his back for a few minutes, before running into the kitchen, startling the cooks, stealing an apple tart and scurrying up the servant stairs that were, really, much faster than the stairs he was supposed to be using.

The suits of armor stood rigid on either side of him, as he ran down the hallway, ignoring the shouting of the servants that he would fall, and skid to a stop in front of a large blue door. He supposed, the door was meant to look like a giant snowflake, but it always seemed to look more like a spider web to him.

Knock, Knock, Knock

The sound echoed through the hallway for a few moments before Mycroft shouted, “What is it, Sherlock? I’m very busy.”

“I-“ Sherlock cleared his throat, angry that he stuttered and gathered all of his indignation, “It was your fault that I lost my specimen, you have to help me find another!”

“And how, pray tell, was I to blame for you slipping on the wet floor and dropping the, what was it, White Hunting Mouse?”

Of course he would know what animal it had been, “Because if you helped me before, like I told you to, none of this would have happened!”

“Sherlock, I have no time for this, just as I had no time this morning. If you want to go out and play in the snow so much, you can go by yourself.”

“I’m not playing! I’m capturing a specimen! You need to help me! I even bought you something to eat while we look. So you could do something you love while being marginally useful.”

There was no answer.

“I know you’re in there!” He kicked the door, “Come out and help me!” 

Still nothing.

Mycroft stood silent on the other side of the door, one hand on the doorknob. He thought of snowmen and snowball fights and watching Sherlock’s eyes alight with wonder and happiness. He thought of the one white curl of hair that was always tucked behind Sherlock’s ear and of little coffins and he stepped away from the door.

“I’m busy.” He said.

“You’re always busy, you never play with me anymore.” It was said in a whisper so soft, that Mycroft wasn’t sure if he was meant to hear it, “Fine, I’ll go find another one by myself! I don’t need you anyway! Your fat gut would just slow me down, and you’ll probably scare it away!” And with that, Sherlock was running down the hall again. There was a crash and a, “Get out of my way!” as the footsteps grew softer and softer. Until Mycroft couldn’t hear anything at all.

 

Five Years Later

The servants were getting ready for the King and Queen’s departure to the Kingdom of Bale. There was a royal wedding that all royalty was invited to attend. The King and Queen would usually avoid going to any parties that would require an extended stay away from the castle. But this was the queen’s niece, so she wanted to go and see the little girl she hadn’t seen in close to twenty years.

Sherlock ran down the hall, servants dodging out of the way without batting an eyelash. He slowed down, before coming to a stop in front of the spider web door for a split second, before continuing toward his parent’s room. He didn’t stop until he had catapulted himself onto the bed, twisting his dirty shoes into the clean sheets.

“You can’t leave, they servants always get stupider when you go. As if I won’t notice that they start washing the floor a full hour early. Or that they only make two dishes instead or three, or that they-“

“Yes, yes Sherlock, we know. But we have to go. We’ll be back soon,” his father said, patting his head, “you be good while we’re gone.”

“I am good, it’s everyone else who causes trouble.”

“Of course,” his mother said, pressing a kiss to his head, “but try anyway, love.”

“I suppose,” Sherlock said, “But don’t forget-“

“We won’t forget your Poisonous Toad Snake,” his father said.

“It’s the only snake in the world that can survive for long periods of time in water, mainly because of its-“

“You can tell us all about it when we get back,” his mother said, patting his head. Sherlock sulked a little bit about the interruption but followed his parents down the grandiose staircase that curled toward the foyer.

As his parents walked they yammered on and on about what they needed to do when they arrived and how best to greet the blushing bride and long lost princess. They seemed excited to go, but Sherlock would be too, if he was allowed to accompany them. 

Not that he was that excited to go to some boring wedding, but he hadn’t been out of the castle in years. He wanted to see Bale, he had read all about it, but he wanted to go and see it with his own eyes. For all Sherlock knew, the author of the book he read was a complete idiot and got everything wrong. Sherlock wanted to go and see for himself. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts and his simmering fury at not being allowed to go, that he didn’t even notice his brother, until he almost smacked into him.

“Finally pulled Your Fatness out of his rooms, I see,” Sherlock said.

Mycroft barely glanced at him, “I see your experiment went badly again. You should have calculated for the reaction Herazine* would have with the air. You should really know better by now.”

Sherlock frowned thunderously, before turning toward his parents, “Don’t forget my snake. I’ll leave you with His Fatness. Have fun while I’m locked in this castle like a prisoner.” Before stomping off in righteous fury.

“Honestly, he acts as if he’s being tortured in here sometimes,” His mother said.

“He’s a teenager, who isn’t allowed to go out and explore the things he reads about. He’s allowed to be a little dramatic about it.” His father said, looking off in the direction Sherlock had gone.

“Mother, Father,” Mycroft said, interrupting their chatter, “do you really think it is in the best interest of the kingdom to go to the wedding? Perhaps you should send an envoy with a message that you couldn’t make it?”

His parents looked at each other. They seemed to have a whole conversation with that look; it never failed to annoy him that they could do that.

“You and Sherlock are so different, sometimes it amazes me. But I suppose it shouldn’t, the two of you always amaze me.” His mother said.

“You’ll be fine, Mycroft,” his father said.

“You and Sherlock should try to get along while we’re gone,” his mother said softly, raising her hand to cup his cheek. Mycroft tried very hard not to flinch back but his mother dropped her hand and simply smiled at him, "We'll be home soon." 

He gazed at them for a few moments, letting his disappointment settle in his stomach before he gave a bland smile and said, “Yes, of course.”

That was the last thing he ever said to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herazine: A chemical I made up because I know next to nothing about chemistry so it's easier for me to make up properties for a made up chemical than for me to actually research anything.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around for my long hiatus! I really appreciate it! I will start posting in this story every Sunday, so if you notice that I haven't, feel free to leave angry comments because I'm probably being lazy about it!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
